Chance
by purple-grasshopper
Summary: A fourteen-year-old con artist is the key to stopping an art theif who kills people who gets in his way. Peter and Neal are assigned to protect her, but she has other ideas. WARNING: Contains the spanking of a teenage girl.
1. Chapter 1

This is the first story that I have ever posted anywhere. I have more wrote, I just need to fix some stuff in them. Let me know what you think, I would love to know what you think of it.

Summary: A fourteen-year-old con artist is the key to stopping an art thief who murders people who get in his way. Peter and Neal are assigned to protect her, but she has other plans.

Warning: Contain reference to child abuse.

Warning: Contains the spanking of a teenager.

Warning: Contains a few bad words.

This story is set before the season final 'Out Of The Box'

NOTE: I do not know anything about art or artists. All of the art stuff in this story I made up.

Disclaimer: I do own the show, this story is only for fun.

* * *

Peter walked into the conference room and saw that his team was already there, including Neal.

"We received an anonymous tip through our online tip line." He said, handing out a stack of folders. "The tipster left all of this information about a man named Andrew Graft"

"How reliable do you think the tip is?" Jones asked, as he was flipping through the file.

"Pretty reliable." Neal answered before Peter could, as he went through the file.

"You've heard of Graft?" Peter asked the younger man.

"He tried to get me to work with him before." Neal said. "A con that would have made us both very rich."

"You refused?" Jones asked him.

"Yes."

"Why?" Peter wanted to know.

"Because the con involved killing a man."

"Did he pull it off without you?" Lauren asked.

"Nope." Neal smiled. "I stole all the Intel for the con, he had no way of pulling it off."

"And he didn't kill you?" Peter asked. "Why?"

"Because of the file I have on him in a secure place. A file that would have been sent to the authorities if I died."

"What file?" Jones asked.

"The file that he thought I had."

"You conned him?" Peter asked, smiling slightly.

"Yeah. Graft is too slippery for anyone to actually prove he did something illegal." Then he looked at the file in his hands. "Until now."

"This file has lists of cons Graft supposedly pulled, lists of people he's murdered, lists of accounts and security boxes that he has money stashed at." Peter said. "It even has his daily routines."

"You think it's one of his fellow con artists stabbing him in the back, or someone he's conned?" Jones asked.

"Not sure." Peter admitted. "We've got enough for a search warrant of all of his properties, including his house. Maybe we'll find the answer to that question. The legal department is obtaining a search warrant now, should come through in a few moments. The last page is a letter that the tipster left."

"Dear White Collar Squad." Peter said, reading the letter out loud. "In my life, I have done many things that I am not proud of. I have lied, stole, and conned more people then I can count. I know that I am not a good person, but I draw the line at murder. Graft crosses that line anytime the need arises. You have to stop him before more people die. I will be in contact."

Peter laid the paper on the table and said, "It is signed Chance Wilson." He noticed Neal's facial expression change. "You know him?" He asked.

"It can't be the same person." Neal said. "There was this guy I met named Alan Wilson, he was a fellow con artist. He told me that he had a daughter named Chance, his parents had custody of her."

"So the daughter followed in the Father's footsteps." Jones said.

"I met Wilson nine years ago." Neal said. "He said his daughter had just turned five."

"So Chance Wilson is fourteen?" Peter asked.

"If it's the same Chance Wilson." Neal said.

Jones started typing at a laptop computer on the table. "It could be the same kid." He said. "Chance Francis Wilson was arrested three months ago when she hacked into the FBI's database."

"What's her story?" Peter asked.

"Her Father is a career conman, He is currently wanted for forgery and grand theft. Her Mother died during childbirth. When Chance was three months old, her Father used her in a con. He sold her to five different couples for a grand total of half a million dollars. He would give his daughter to a couple, then break into their homes a few days later and take her back. He was in the middle of conning a sixth couple when he was caught. He was sent to jail and Chance was sent to live with her grandparents.

When Chance was six, she walked into a police station and accused her Grandfather of physical child abuse. Her Grandfather showed up at the police station a couple minutes after she did and claimed that the girl was angry because he punished her for lying to him. And that she was just trying to get back at him. The police were just about to let him take her, when she climbed on top of a desk. Then she stripped down to her panties and everyone saw that her body was covered with bruises.

Her Grandfather confessed and was sent to jail, her Grandmother gave up all parental rights to her. She made several statements saying that her husband was a good man and that Chance deserved each and every beating she received. Chance was sent to a group home. She has been in and out of fifteen different group homes every since. Then a year ago, right after she turned thirteen, she ran away and wasn't heard from until she was arrested for hacking into the FBI database. She claimed that it was just for fun, then she gave the FBI the slip and hasn't been heard from again."

"Until now." Peter said. "First her own Father used her, then her Grandfather used her, and now apparently Graft is using her."

There was a knock at the door, then the door was opened.

"Here's the warrant you requested Agent Burke." The young woman said.

* * *

Peter, Neal, and several FBI agents walked up the walk to a large three story Victorian style house. The door was opened before Peter had a chance to ring the bell.

"Caffery." Andrew Graft said, eyeing the other man with distaste. "I heard you were working with the FBI."

"Hello Graft." Neal said.

"Agent Peter Burke." Peter said, showing the man his badge and handing him the warrant. "We have a warrant to search everything you own."

"I have done nothing wrong." Graft said, not moving from the doorway. Graft was about two inches taller then Peter, and outweighed him by a good seventy pounds. But Peter pushed past him and entered the house anyway.

"Then you won't mind us having a look around." He said.

"I'm calling my lawyer." Graft said.

"You can have him meet you downtown." Neal said, as he picked up a vase.

"Recognize it?" Peter asked.

"It is a Gannet original." A voice said. They turned and saw a young girl around fourteen. She was slender with short red hair and green eyes. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans with bright orange pockets and thread in the seems, an orange tee-shirt, and orange sneakers. Her left eye was swollen shut and bruised. "It was stolen last week from an art gallery on Madison Street."

"Shut up, Chance." Graft hissed.

"Bite me, Bozo." Chance said.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, as he knelt in front of the girl to get a better look at her eye.

"I'm fine." She said, stepping back.

"Arrest him." Peter said, standing up and glaring at Graft. "For theft and child abuse."

"That isn't a child." Graft said, glaring at the young girl. "She's a hellion, and a nuisance."

"Maybe so." Chance smirked. "But I'm not the one who's going to become a prison bitch to some big ole boy named Bubba."

Jones was about to cuff Graft, when Chance made that statement. Graft broke away from the other man and lunged towards the young girl. But Peter stepped in between them and Graft stopped.

"Not so enthusiastic to hit a FBI agent, huh." Chance said.

"Get him out of here." Peter said.

Jones cuffed him and lead him out of the house, reading the man his Miranda rights.

"Dude's not going to do well in prison." Chance said, with a smile.

"I'm Agent Peter Burke." Peter said. "Are you the one who left the information on the tip line?"

"No, it was left by the Easter Bunny."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Peter asked, ignoring her comment.

"I'm fine."

"We'll have a doctor to take a……."

"It's a black eye, Burke." She said, shaking her head. "It's not my first one. And with my proficiency at pissing people off, it won't be my last. Now will you please execute your warrant and search this place?"

"Here, honey." Lauren walked over and handed her a bag of frozen Brussels sprouts. "This will help with the swelling."

Chance took the bag and placed it over her swollen eye, then she sat down in a chair.

"Just stay there." Peter told the young girl. "We'll be out of here shortly."

"Whatever."

* * *

Several minutes later, Chance was still sitting in the same chair. The Brussels sprouts were defrosted and laying in a pool of water on the table beside her. She saw the FBI agents confiscate several pieces of art.

"Time for my disappearing act." She said softly, so no one could hear her. The young teenager grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the coffee table and started writing. When she was finished, she laid the pad on table and stood up. Making sure everyone's attention was elsewhere, she slipped out the door.

Peter and Neal were looking at a painting, when Jones walked over to them.

"That is one ugly painting." Jones remarked.

"It's worth almost a quarter of a million dollars." Neal said.

Jones shook his head, then said "I just put Graft in a black and white. He claims that the theft at the art gallery was Chance's idea, that she planned the whole thing."

"She's just a little girl." Peter said. "Graft's trying to weasel his way out of trouble, but it's not going to work."

"Where is the kid?" Jones asked.

"Over there." Peter turned to where Chance had been sitting, only to find her gone.

"She left a note." Neal said, walking over to the table and picking up the pad of paper. "Agent Burke." Neal read. "By now I am sure Graft has informed you that it was me who pulled off the art gallery heist. He is right. I planed and executed it, consider this my confession. But Graft was in on it also. You have everything you need to put Graft away, so you don't need me to stick around. Don't bother looking for me, you won't find me. I know that one day I will either be behind bars or dead due to my life of crime, but right now it is the only life that I know. Who knows, one day you may even be the one to arrest me. But that isn't going to happen anytime soon, so just walk away. Arrest Graft and call it a day. He is a dangerous man, so watch yourself. He's also very slippery and I am positive that he will try and escape. PS. Tell Caffery to lose the hat."

* * *

Peter walked into an integration room and sat down at the table. Graft was already seated across from him.

"That robbery was the kid's idea." Graft said.

"So you were just taking orders from a fourteen-year-old girl?" Peter asked.

"Hell no." Graft said, quickly. "I was always the one in charge, but she's good at what she does."

"And what does she do?"

"Besides making people miserable? She's a con artist, and a thief. Kid can con just about everyone, look you straight in the eye and lie through her teeth. She's smart too."

"Smart enough to give us the slip." Peter admitted. "Where would she go?"

"Hell if I know." Graft sighed. "When she wants to disappear, she disappears. She stole most of that stuff you found in my house. The only reason you know about me is because of her, I know that. Caffery claimed to have a file on me, but I stopped believing that a while back. But Chance somehow gathered all of that on me." Graft shook his head. "Kid's good. She'd make a first rate career criminal if it wasn't for her morals. Kid won't hurt anyone."

"Unlike you?"

"Might as well admit it." Graft said. "You have proof of my past deeds. I hurt and killed people, that didn't set too well for Chance."

"That why you hit her?"

"No, I hit her because she's annoying and pig headed. She's rude and won't listen to a word you say. I think I showed great restraint in not killing the brat."

"Where would she go?" Peter asked again.

"Like I said, I don't know."

* * *

What did you think? Please let me know, good or bad. I will have more posted very soon. I am new at this fan fiction thing and would love your feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

I want to think everyone for the kind reviews and for the alerts. I am glad you are liking this story. I will have more up as soon as I can.

* * *

Peter was sitting in his office, re-reading all of the information that they had on Chance. It wasn't much of a file. He looked up as Neal knocked, then walked into the office and sat down.

"I talked to Mozzie." The younger man said.

"He know anything about Chance?"

"He's heard of her, she's very good. Rumor has it that she's one of the best con artists out there."

"She's just a kid." Peter said, shaking his head.

"Mozzie's still looking, he wants us to meet him in half an hour at June's."

"Why can't he come here?" Peter asked, then held up his hand to stop Neal from answering. "Never mind, don't answer."

* * *

Half an hour later, Neal and Peter arrived at June's. Mozzie was sitting outside on the terrace.

"I do believe you have met your match with this kid." Mozzie said, with a smirk.

"What do you know?" Peter asked.

"She's an artist, rumor has it that she's the one who stole the Greteta painting from the New York Museum Of History. Then replaced it with a very good replica."

"I remember hearing about that." Neal said. "Whoever stole it left a thread of fabric on the glass case accommodating the painting. That's the only reason the switch was discovered, they ran a few tests on the painting to be on the safe side and discovered that it was a fake."

"That painting was worth over half a million dollars." Peter said.

"Kid must have millions stashed away."

"Did any of your friends know where she would go?" Peter asked.

"She's not a person of habit." Mozzie answered. "No set patterns of behavior, no favorite store or anything, not even a favorite restaurant. But she only uses a handful of fences."

"How the hell does a fourteen-year-old find fences?" Peter asked. "And become a con artist?"

"When you're on your own, you adapt." Mozzie said. "According to my sources, she started when she was seven."

"When she was seven she was fostered by Anthony and Karen Houseman." Peter said, he had read her file so many times he had it memorized. She lived with them for six months, then was removed from their care after the Houseman's were arrested for drug procession."

"Nice work the government does on screening foster parents." Mozzie said.

"I need a list of her fences." Peter said.

Mozzie handed him a sheet of paper. "Already done."

"Let's go, Neal."

"Where to? Neal asked. "Check out the fences, or the Houseman's?"

"Fences first." Peter answered. "I'll have Jones and Lauren find out about the Houseman's."

A few minutes later, Peter and Neal were standing in front of a small pawn shop.

"Doesn't look like a high end fence to me." Peter said, looking at the rundown building.

"He is." Neal said. "I've done business with Paul before, he can sell anything."

The two men walked into the building and saw a middle aged man behind the counter. He was short and overweight, with thinning brown hair.

"Neal Caffrey." The man said, a huge smile on his face. "Haven't seen you in a while, thought you were going straight. Let me guess, you gave those idiots at the FBI the slip."

"Not exactly." Neal said. "Paul Brown, meet Peter Burke. He's FBI."

"Oh." The smile vanished.

"We need some information on one of our clients." Neal said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Brown said.

"I could come back with a warrant to search this place." Peter said. "Wonder what we'll find."

"What do you want to know." Brown sighed, giving Neal a dirty look.

"Where Chance Wilson is."

"Who?"

"We know she uses you for a fence." Neal said.

"Haven't seen her for a couple weeks."

"Do you know when you'll see her again?" Peter asked.

"This afternoon, she called me a few minutes ago."

"What time?"

"Five."

"Where?"

"Abandoned building by the waterfront, building number twenty."

"Don't show up." Peter said. "And do not even think about warning her."

"Can't, she never leaves a number to be reached."

"How long you been fencing for her?"

"She started coming when she was seven with her foster parents."

"Anthony and Karen Houseman?"

"Yeah."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Awhile."

* * *

A few minutes before five, Peter and Neal were standing inside the abandoned building. Peter was on his cell phone.

"The Houseman's haven't heard from Chance six she was removed from their custody." Peter said, as he hung up the phone. They claim that Chance was already into cons before they took her in, that's why they took her in."

"Her Grandparents." Neal said.

"Looks like it."

"If you believe the Houseman's."

"Shh." Peter hissed softly. "I hear something." The two men hid behind a thick beam.

They watched as one of the doors opened and Chance walk in.

"Kid's colorful." Neal whispered.

The young teenager was wearing a bright green tee shirt, purple jeans, and green sneakers.

They waited until the girl was in the center of the room, then they stepped out.

"Damn." Chance said. "I am gonna egg Brown's store, maybe even Brown himself."

"Hello Chance." Peter said.

"Hello Fed."

"Where's the stiff you wanted fenced?"

"Why, you want half?"

"Where's the stuff?" Peter asked again.

Chance sighed and reached into her jeans' pocket and pulled out an old looking key, then handed it to Peter.

"It's a key." Peter said, confused.

"No shit Sherlock."

"It's the key to Willow Manor." Neal said, "How did you mange that?"

"Willow Manor?" Peter asked.

"During the Civil War, Willow Manor was used to hid run away slaves. There was a secret room in the basement, it connected to the underground railroad. This key opened the door. It's in an exhibit at the New Your Museum Of History."

"That place must really dislike you by now." Peter said, giving her a disapproving look. "How did you get it?"

"A true artist never reveals her secrets."

"Come on." Neal said. "I'm dieing to know."

"It was easy." Chance smirked. "Wearing certain clothes, I look younger then fourteen. I waited until the museum was about to close and ran into the exhibit room. The guard stopped me and told me that exhibit was closed. I convinced him that a group of bullies from school was after me and I just needed a place to hid for a few minutes. He said okay. He left to close down the other exhibits, closing the door behind him. I had twenty minutes to remove the glass casing, and replace the key with a fake. Then the guard escorted me and the stolen key right out of the museum."

"Impressive." Neal smiled. "Did you make the fake key yourself?"

"Yeah, that was the hard part. It has a lot of cool designs on it."

"Hey!" Peter barked, glaring at both of them.

"Did someone miss their nap?"

"He missed dinner." Neal said. "He's always cranky when he misses dinner."

"He should start carrying energy bars in his pockets, just in case."

"You know, that's a great idea."

"Hey!" Peter barked again. "Let's go."

"Where?" Chance asked.

"Where do you think?"

"That's what I thought." She aimed a hard kick to Peter's shin, but he saw it coming and jumped back.

"Settle down." Peter said, his voice stern. "Now."

The two men and one teenage girl walked out of the building and onto the water front docks. Several fishing boats were being unloaded, the docks were pretty crowded.

"I don't want to go to juvenile hall." Chance said.

"Should have thought about that before you started stealing and conning." Peter said, his voice still stern.

"I can pay a lot of money, if you just turn around and walk away."

"No."

"Come on, everyone has a price."

"I don't." Peter said.

"He doesn't." Neal agreed. "Trust me, you're just wasting your breath."

"Then there's only one thing left to do." Chance said. "Help!" She screamed, as she took off running. "Please, help me!"

"Get back here!" Peter shouted, as he ran after her.

Several men stepped between the two men and Chance.

"FBI." Peter said, pulling out his badge. "Step aside."

The men looked at the badge, then moved. Peter and Neal ran after the fleeing girl, who was now several yards in front of them.

Chance knew that it wouldn't be long before the men with much longer legs caught up to her, so she knew she had to act fast. She saw a small motor boat and jumped into it. The young girl untied the boat and started the engine, then she pulled the boat away form the dock.

"Stop right now, young lady!" Peter shouted, as the boat left the dock.

Peter made it to the edge of the dock and jumped, trying to land on the boat. But the boat was moving too fast and he landed with a loud splash in the river. He surfaced, coughing and spluttering out water.

"Now's not a good time for a bath, Peter." Neal said from the edge of the dock.

Peter glared at him, then at the retreating boat, then back at Neal. "Damn con artists." He mumbled.

* * *

TBC

Please let me know what you think.


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